“I was trying to have a conversation,” Eira said. She stopped fighting him.
“You wanted to run me through with that iron rod,” Bosque countered. “I had no choice but to disarm you.”
Eira glared at him. “I did not want to run you through.”
“You did.” Bosque’s infuriating smile widened. “And all because of a pale-haired girl who looks upon me with doe eyes.”
“You admit it!” Eira snapped. “Now let me go and get out of my room.”
He didn’t let her go. Instead he lifted her up and carried her to the fireplace. Laying her on the sheepskin rug that was warmed by its proximity to the flames, Bosque held her still while he looked down at her.
“My lovely Eira,” he murmured. “You mistake gratitude for affection. Agnes is a sorrowful girl who has been ill treated by this world. My kindness is a refuge for her, that is all.”
“But why must you be so kind?” Eira asked. “Why not let Alistair care for the girl?”
“Alistair is too busy to attend to Agnes,” Bosque replied. “I took it upon myself to earn her trust.”
“To what end?” Eira frowned at him.
“You’ve seen it yourself,” Bosque said. “Agnes has a priceless role to play in Lord Hart’s cause with Ember. Agnes will be forever tied to us; thus, Ember will be bound as well.”
Eira turned her face toward the fire and away from his gaze. She shuddered when his fingers stroked her jaw.
Not wanting to admit how his light touch affected her, Eira said, “I’m cold.”
Bosque stretched his hand toward the fireplace and the smoldering embers roared into flames. “Better?” Bosque leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.
She nodded.
“Why so many questions about Agnes?” Bosque took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. “The truth, Eira.”
Eira swallowed hard, but answered honestly. “Agnes is young… and obviously fertile. She could give you the heir you desire. I—”
Bosque stopped her words with a kiss.
“Stop.” Eira pushed him away.
Stroking her hair, Bosque asked quietly, “Has your desire for me waned?”
“No. Never.” Eira shivered. She reached up to touch his mouth, tracing its shape. “You place so much faith in me. I worry I cannot give you what you need. I am older than most brides.”
“This wedding of Alistair’s has muddled your thoughts, I think. Do you long to be a bride like Ember? Shall I prove my love by marrying you?” Bosque laughed, catching her wrist when she tried to slap him for making fun of her.
“Your age means nothing to me.” Bosque rolled up to a sitting position, lifting Eira onto his lap. “And no other woman is suited to bear my child. Only you.”
“I do not wish to be any man’s bride.” Eira kept her eyes downcast. “But I would be certain of your feelings.”
“Have I given you cause to doubt?” Bosque asked. His arms were around her, warm and strong.
Eira shifted in his lap. “Does love hold sway in your world as it does here?”
Bosque was quiet until Eira looked up at him.
“In my world love is earned, proven,” Bosque said. “It is not proclaimed or professed.”
He smiled, pushing a stray lock of hair from Eira’s forehead. “And if you’re pestered by these questions, I have not done enough to prove my affection for you.”
Eira opened her mouth to protest, but he drank in her words with a kiss.
“How shall I prove myself?” he murmured against her lips. “Like this?”
Bosque kissed her again.
As he settled her before the fire, Eira asked, “And what of my love? Have I proven it to you?”
“With every breath, Eira,” Bosque said. “With every breath.”
ALISTAIR DIDN’T BOTHER to seek his bed the night before his wedding. He knew sleep would elude him during the last night he had to suffer through before Ember would be in his arms. His wife. Belonging to him at last.
Forsaking his chambers, which were too full of anticipation to bear, Alistair sought distraction in the catacombs. He strode quickly down the tunnel, eager to be rid of his embarrassingly boyish fixation on his wedding night.
Despite the late hour, Alistair found Rhys awake. The young wolf was chewing contentedly on a large ox bone. When Alistair crouched beside the cage, Rhys looked up, his golden eyes intent.
“I would speak with you,” Alistair said. He unlocked the cage and opened the door.
Rhys left the bone and trotted to the door. He only shifted into human form when he was free of the cage. The boy smiled as Alistair sat on the floor. Rhys dropped into a cross-legged sitting position beside him.
“Soon you’ll leave your den,” Alistair told him. “Do you feel ready?”
Rhys’s brow knit together. “Where will I go?”
“Outside,” Alistair said. “With me, of course.”
“If you are there, Father,” Rhys replied, “I am happy to go. May I still sleep in my den?”
Alistair’s mouth twitched into a smile. The boy was so wolfish it was uncanny, but Alistair supposed it was only logical that he should be, given his origin.
“If you prefer your den, you may spend nights here,” Alistair told him. “But I’ll let you choose what you wish after you’ve seen the other places you might sleep.”
“A new den?” Rhys’s golden eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Alistair laughed. “Yes. A new den.”
Rhys shrugged, looking at his iron cage with a fondness Alistair couldn’t understand. “Maybe.”
“This den isn’t large enough to share with your brothers and sisters,” Alistair pointed out. “And they’ll be joining you soon. Are you ready to help me teach them?”
Rhys nodded eagerly.
“Good.” Alistair smiled. “Would you like to run through the catacombs?”
Instantly the boy was a wolf once more, wagging his tail.
Alistair jumped up and was about to lead Rhys from the room when he heard the boy’s voice.
“Is the lady coming back?”
Alistair turned, surprised that Rhys had shifted back to his human form.
“Lady Eira?” Alistair asked. “I’m sure she’ll visit again, but she’s very busy.”
“No.” Rhys frowned, his thick pewter-brown curls framing the rosy pout on his lips. “Not the serious lady. The other one who was afraid.”
“Afraid?” Alistair’s stomach clenched. “Of whom do you speak? Did she come alone?”
“I was sleeping.” Rhys nodded, wrinkling his nose. “But the scent of her fear was so strong, it woke me up. She was trying to get into my den.”
Alistair could barely hear over the roaring of blood in his veins. “Tell me, Rhys. What did she look like?”
“She was younger than the serious lady,” Rhys answered. “But she had the same fire hair, only darker.”
Alistair had to brace himself in the arched chamber opening.
Rhys whimpered. “What’s wrong, Father?”
“I’m sorry, Rhys,” Alistair said, forcing his panic down. The child was terribly sensitive to the moods of those around him, and Alistair didn’t want to distress him. “But you won’t be able to run now. I have to leave you.”
A wolf once more, Rhys whined. He lowered his head in submission.
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Alistair reassured the wolf. “Go to your den. I promise that I’ll come to take you to run soon. And you shall run under the moon.”
Rhys stood up. He licked Alistair’s hand enthusiastically before returning to the cage and settling back in to chew the ox bone.
Alistair managed to lock the door and clear the main chamber before he began to run. His jaw was clenched so hard, the muscles shrieked in pain, but Alistair needed the throbbing ache to stay in control of his mind and heart. Every fiber of his body screamed that he should go to Ember’s chamber. He wanted to pin her where she slept and demand answers. But
that was the impulse of a boy, and Alistair had to make the choices a man would. The knowledge that she’d been in the catacombs sliced Alistair’s hopes to ribbons. She’d seen Rhys, but what else had she discovered? Why had she been in the tombs to begin with?
When Alistair reached Lady Eira’s chamber, he banged on the door hard, expecting he would have to wake her.
Though he’d been ready to burst into the room, he was startled enough to take several steps back when Bosque answered the door. Lord Mar’s torso was bare, and a sheet had been hastily wrapped around his hips.
“Lord Hart?” Bosque smiled lazily. “You look distressed. Are you having second thoughts about your bride?”
There was an unintended but cruel truth in Bosque’s words that sent Alistair pushing past him into Eira’s bedchamber, regardless of what had been transpiring within.
Eira gasped, gathering blankets to cover herself where she lay on the bed. “Lord Hart, you do not enter without permission!”
“Forgive me, Lady Eira.” Alistair glanced back and forth between Bosque, who closed the door and went to sit on the edge of Eira’s bed, and Lady Eira, whose cheeks were coloring with the rosy blush of a maid. Despite the new questions raised by this strange scene, Alistair shoved them aside. “I had to speak with you at once.”
The amused expression on Bosque’s face vanished. “What is it, Alistair?”
Alistair clenched his fists, reminding himself that he wasn’t a lover betrayed but a commander of men. The right hand of Lady Eira and Lord Mar.
“We have a problem.”
EMBER WENT THROUGH THE motions of a bride readying for her wedding day, but she felt as though she watched from above, a spirit freed from her body. Agnes stood close, smiling and dabbing at her eyes, while maidservants helped Ember into a gown of gold silk. Her hair had been carefully arranged into a mix of braids and curls that tumbled down her back.
“You rival the sun, sister.” Agnes beamed at Ember. “Your hair is flames, and the gown daylight. You have never looked so beautiful.”
Ember forced a smile. “Thank you.”
Agnes took her hand while the servants drew the laces of the gown tight. “You look frightened.”
Ember squeezed Agnes’s fingers, unable to answer. Agnes looked into Ember’s eyes and then said to the maidservants, “I’ll finish this. Please give us some time alone.”
When the servants had gone, Agnes stood directly in front of Ember. “I know many maids fear the first night with their husbands because it is known that the wedding night can be painful.”
Ember’s eyes widened. She was afraid, yes, but her anxiety had nothing to do with anticipation of a wedding night. If Ember ever shared a bed with Alistair, everything in her life would have gone unimaginably wrong.
Taking Ember’s startled expression for confirmation of her words, Agnes continued, “You need not worry, Ember. Alistair loves you. He will not treat you like some brutes might. He will be tender and ensure that you have pleasure.” Agnes was suddenly blushing. “Despite all the sorrows I’ve borne, I still remember the wonders that Henry wrought from my body. At the time, I thought it to be love, when it was only lust.” The blush gave way to grief’s shadow, and she shook her head. “But Alistair does love you, so you can take joy in the secrets of love about which maidens whisper.”
Bewildered by her sister’s assumptions, Ember just nodded. Her mind was filled with blades and betrayal, while Agnes spoke of love.
Agnes turned Ember to face away from her and finished securing the laces of her wedding gown. Ember’s gut twisted with guilt; she could bear her secrets no longer.
“Agnes, there’s something I must tell you—”
A light knock sounded, and Agnes called, “Come in!”
The door swung in, and one of the maidservants curtsied before stepping aside to allow Ossia Morrow entry.
“Mother!” Agnes cried, rushing into Lady Morrow’s open arms.
Ember stood still, the soon-to-unfold plot against Eira and Bosque waiting on her lips. Her father held fast to the notion that women had no business in matters politic or military, but in this rare case, could he have shared the truth with his wife? If Ember disclosed her allies’ plans to her mother and sister, would Ossia Morrow react with solemn knowing or horrified shock? More importantly, if it were the latter, would she betray Ember’s confidence?
Ossia stroked Agnes’s hair. “My heart is full of joy to see you so well, Agnes.”
Agnes drew herself up, leaving her childish outburst behind to play the proper matron. “I am greatly indebted to Lady Eira, Lord Bosque, and especially to Ember’s betrothed. I have been afforded every comfort since my arrival at Tearmunn.”
“Then we are indebted to them as well,” Lady Morrow answered.
Ember’s mother left her elder daughter to stand before Ember. Ember felt rigid, unable to respond with warmth to her mother’s arrival, as she could think only of the peril her mother would face once the clansmen began their attack.
Ossia touched Ember’s cheek. “Oh, you are pale, my dear. Don’t be frightened. This is a wonderful, wonderful day.”
Ember hugged her mother, but the embrace felt stiff. She’d seen the shining delight in Ossia’s gaze; her father had given his wife no bit of truth regarding this sham of a wedding. Neither Agnes nor their mother had any inkling of the imminent danger. Though Mackenzie had promised men to protect them, the only small comfort Ember took was in the stiletto she’d slipped into her garter when the maids and Agnes were distracted. If all else failed, Ember would protect her mother and sister herself.
“It’s time to join the others,” Ossia told Ember. “I’m here to escort you to the ceremony.”
Ember took her mother’s arm, and Agnes followed them from the room. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Ember’s knees went weak. Her mother grabbed her around the waist tightly and propped her up as they walked.
“There, there, my dear,” Ossia whispered. “Don’t let it overwhelm you.”
Agnes came to Ember’s opposite side, taking her arm to give their mother aid.
Though rain had fallen overnight, leaving the courtyard muddy, the day was the best May could offer. A cloudless sky heralded Ember’s arrival. The light breeze that touched her skin was warm, its breath sweetened by blossoms that festooned the manor entryway.
Even on the most bustling days at Tearmunn, Ember had never seen the courtyard so full. Dancers whose heads were wreathed with flowers spun and jumped while pipes and bodhran filled the air with a soaring, frenzied melody.
Servants wove among the guests, bearing platters of roasted meats and brimming cups of wine. Men and women jostled each other, lifting onto the balls of their feet to glimpse the approaching bride. Ember searched the crowd, her chest tightening. The clansmen had gathered en masse. Cian, Ember’s father, and Lord Mackenzie stood at the front of their ranks.
The warriors held wine cups, but not once did Ember see a man among them drink. She found little comfort in their numbers as she realized that genuine guests were in attendance. These celebrants raised their cups when Ember passed, shouting blessings and bawdy suggestions for the wedding night. Ember bowed her head, wondering how many hapless guests would have their blood spilled that day for reasons they’d never comprehend.
Ember’s gaze roamed the faces, finding mostly strangers. She knew she searched for Barrow in vain, but still she looked. Meeting his gray eyes, if only for a second, would bolster her courage, in the face of this horrid day. No longer able to bear the hollowing beneath her ribs, Ember abandoned her search to face what she feared most.
Father Michael and Alistair awaited her on a wooden dais that had been erected between the manor and the barracks. At Alistair’s left shoulder stood Bosque Mar, still and imposing as a monument. On Alistair’s right, Lady Eira watched the bridal party approach, a tight smile fixed upon her lips. But the figure standing at Alistair’s side made Ember stumble.
The boy in the cage. H
e stood dressed in the fine clothing of a nobleman’s child. Alistair’s hands rested on his shoulders.
Ember’s glance shot to the stables. If she broke from her mother and sister now, she could get to a horse and ride. Caber had been left to Barrow’s care in France, but for this purpose, any swift mount would do. If she ran, Alistair would surely chase her. Maybe that would be distraction enough, serving the same purpose as the attack but avoiding the bloodbath this crowd promised.
“You must remember to breathe, Ember,” Agnes whispered in her ear. “You’re terribly pale.”
Shaking off her coward’s dream of flight, Ember did as Agnes bid, drawing long, deep breaths to steady herself. If Ember were to run, she would have little chance of making it as far as the stables. Too many people filled the courtyard to give her a clear path, and Alistair’s men, if not Alistair himself, would catch her before she came close to fleeing the keep.
Agnes kissed Ember’s cheek as they stepped onto the dais and then she passed her sister into Alistair’s waiting grasp. Alistair took both of Ember’s hands in his, bringing her gaze to his face. He brought her fingers to his lips. “You’re trembling, my sweet.”
Ember could only nod. Suddenly she blurted out, “I’m not well. I worry I will faint.”
“I’ll only keep you here a bit longer,” Alistair replied. “It will all be over soon.”
Ember stared at him as he squelched her last ploy to stop the ceremony. It had to be this way, Ember desperately reminded herself. The wedding and the surprise attack were the only things that could provide Rebekah the time she needed to close the rift.
Alistair gestured to the boy at his side. “Ember, this is Rhys. You’ll soon know him as you’d know your own child.”
The boy looked at Ember with solemn yellow eyes. “She’s still afraid, Father.”
Ember gasped at the way Rhys addressed Alistair. Who was this child?
Rhys watched her, calm and curious. Ember returned his gaze, wondering if she’d imagined his transformation. How could this sweet-faced child have become a wolf?
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